“Daddy, I’m not going to take a bath until you let me smell the maggots one more time.”

What’s most wrong with this statement?

(1) child giving parent an ultimatum
(2) presence of maggots somewhere in our home
(3) implication that he doesn’t need to bathe unless exposed to maggots
(4) suggestion that I let him smell the maggot-pile in the first place
(5) that he needs another hit of rot-waft

My son crawled out of bed tonight and announced to us that he needed his toenails clipped. I thought this was the funniest thing I had ever heard — at least a very creative excuse not to go to sleep (what if a long nail caught on the comforter?!) — but I immediately knew that laughing would not be received well by thelovelywife. I stifled my laughter in my elbow pit.

Without looking up from her magazine my wife dryly replied, “Son, we do not trim toenails every night. Go back to bed.” Which he promptly did.

See, I would have blown that exchange in any myriad of ways.

In Ghana if a young child bends over to look through his or her legs it is a sign that the child’s mother will soon be pregnant. The bent-over youngster, according to West African tradition, is looking for a sibling. Interestingly, this idea must have currency in other cultures such as Louisiana French, because my wife’s grandmother also knows of it. My youngest son conks his head on the ground to look backwards all the time and whenever he does it sets off a flurry of giggling Twi, the dialect that our Ghanaian nanny and all her neighborhood pals speak. If translated I believe they would be saying: “job security”.

So the Lincoln Park Zoo is in a world of hurt, having decremented their animal count by eight and not by sending ’em back to the bush. I don’t know what’s going on there, exactly, but I can speak for much of Chicago in saying that we really really really want to give you the benefit of the doubt, LPZoo. You are one of the only free zoos left in the country and such a gem in the middle of the park. There is absolutely nothing better than a stroll on the lake with a quick duck in to see the animals. But, jeez! What’s going on?

Today I chaperoned my son’s class on a field trip to the zoo. Somehow all the 3-4 year-olds knew that the elephants had died. I know I didn’t tell them and I suspect the teachers didn’t either. Meme’s get around, I guess. It was all they could talk about. They don’t even know what death is. Problem is that at midday most of the animals are lounging in the shade, motionless, which of course prompted incessant questioning: Is the hippo dead? Are the coyotes dead? And my favorite, because it was was looking right at us: Is the tiger dead?

Suggestion for the LPZoo. In addition to your press relations effort regarding the deaths at the zoo how about you position a smart staffer at every one of the exhibits that used to house the now-deceased. Make it a point to discuss things openly with children who come by. Don’t remove the elephant signage and not expect kids (or adults) to notice. We know the zoo like our backyard. Be overt and forthcoming. Explain disease, explain the stress of captivity, explain that sometimes we don’t know why animals die. This will win the day eventually and will benefit the kids ultimately. Animals don’t just disappear.

“Mommy, I accidentally hit Andrew on purpose.” Sobbing, sobbing.

The conflicted emotions of a rambunctious 3½-year-old.

Hmmm, could be my son is watching too much Star Wars.

Today he was sternly reprimanded for smacking his little brother in the face while he demonstrated his light saber tactics.

Later, while crapping, he noted that his staccato farting sounded like laser blasts.

Then, he announced that he needed to go to Alabama because his imaginary friend’s sister Janey was being attacked by AT-AT Imperial Walkers there. (The fact that he knows Alabama being the most troubling part of that exchange.)

Back to Mary Poppins?

My three-year-old son today exclaimed “Look Mommy it’s snowing and raining at the same time.”

If I were there I would have informed him that this meteorological phenomenon is known as “sneet” or, more simply, late winter in Chicago.

My son calls headphones “headmuffs.” I find that hysterical, but if I let him see even a smirk he’d get embarrassed and probably cry, never to utter it again. That’s my current parenting dilemma. Correct him or let him go on with his cute and often-funny neologisms? Seems cruel to let him go on, now that I think of it, but there’s nothing better than hearing about a “hippo-om-a-puss” when you least expect it. I’ll let it go a bit longer …

Today we put in Mary Poppins for the first time for our three-year-old son. He immediately asked if it was over. You see, Mary Poppins, like most movies of its period, opens with screen after screen of detailed credits. Today’s movies having barely any at all my son naturally figured the movie had ended. I mean, come on, that much text belongs at the end, right?